


Hunted

by Threshie



Category: Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, GammaMuffin, Hulkeye - Freeform, M/M, Nightmares, PTSD, Threshie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 10:25:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10092218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Threshie/pseuds/Threshie
Summary: Bruce is safe and no longer on the run, but it's not so easy to convince his subconscious of that after years of being hunted.





	

The mud soaked through Bruce’s canvas sneakers, sucking at the soles with every step. Not good—this terrain slowed him down. Somewhere far behind, he could hear the group fanning out, feet splashing in puddles in a half-circle around him. Quick, quiet orders, and the click of their weapons. _Need to get out of sight,_ he decided, looking around.

There weren’t many places to go—just mud and barren, dead-looking trees in this swampy back country. He knew he couldn’t outrun them, and if he stopped long enough to get shot, God help them. His heart was already beating at his chest like it wanted out, his vision a little blurry. If he glanced back, he was sure the green glow from his eyes would give him away instantly.

Ducking behind a bent tree, Bruce stuck his hands into the mud. His fingers stung with scrapes against twigs and debris underneath before they found it—a rock. Dragging the muddy thing out of the water, he listened to gauge where the others were. Close—maybe ten feet back. Standing up behind the tree, Bruce lobbed the rock as hard as he could off to one side. As expected, the whole lot of them scrambled that way, splashing loudly as they went.

Which masked the splashes when he sank down into the water, laying down just near enough to the tree to keep a hand anchored to the trunk, and dumped mud onto himself. Running was out of the question, so hiding was the next best option. He squeezed his eyes closed to mask the green glow, held perfectly still, and forced himself to take deep breaths. His heart was racing—too fast, it was too fast. He had to stay calm. _Breathe…_

Something touched his arm.

Against all efforts to relax, Bruce flinched at the light tickle at his wrist, his eyes snapping open.

Curtains. The tickle was the curtains in the breeze from the open window. He was in a bed, clean and warm, and the mud and faceless pursuers had vanished. The brightness of the sun shining in the windows was so disorienting that the brunette blinked like an owl, glancing around the room rapidly like it might just be a dream.

“G'morning.” His attention was drawn to the owner of the voice across the room. A handsome, somewhat scruffy blond with bandaids on one cheek and hair sticking up. Clear blue eyes. Clint.

Bruce stared at him, feeling disoriented all over again. It was kind of sad that living with Clint seemed just as likely as the possibility of having his own home. Bruce was used to neither.

The blond’s expression shifted to a concerned one, and he stepped over to sit on the edge of the bed, placing a hand slowly onto Bruce’s shoulder.

“Hey…you in there?”

Only then did Bruce realize that he was huddled on the bed, his arms and legs curled up close to him defensively. His heart was beating faster than it ought to have been, too. He forced a few deep breaths, focusing on the blond man in front of him.

“Clint. Y-yeah, I’m here,” he replied vaguely, sighing. “Bad dream, that’s all.” That was what it had been, of course. Now that he was coming back to his senses, he remembered going to sleep beside Clint the night before. He hadn’t dreamed about being hunted for awhile. Maybe his subconscious was trying to warn him not to get too comfortable here.

Clint nodded, turning and laying down on the bed beside him. He held an arm out, inviting. Sighing, Bruce sank down to lay half across his chest, hugging him tightly.

“Sorry.”

“Nah,” the archer dismissed the guilty apology, running his fingers through Bruce’s hair slowly. “It’s still a good morning.”

Bruce had to agree. He’d blinked and gone from that desperate, hopeless moment huddled in the cold mud to this—curled up with Clint, who was warm, calm, and wearing only pajama pants. That _was_ pretty good.

“It seems late,” he commented quietly after awhile, glancing up at the sunlight streaming through the window. Clint had probably let him sleep in. He always insisted Bruce needed to sleep more.

“Noonish,” the blond replied casually. Bruce felt a kiss being pressed to his hair, and he felt a pang in his chest. He was still getting used to anybody caring about him this much. Clint wasn’t exactly the type to sugar coat anything, but if Bruce seemed shaken up, he suddenly became the gentlest person. Bruce had no way of telling him just how appreciated that was. The kiss made his eyes blur with tears, and he sniffled a little, hugging Clint closer. His pulse had slowed, thank god, but his throat felt tight.

Clint didn’t comment on the tears, rubbing his shoulders gently. Bruce had only really lost his cool around the guy a handful of times, but Clint had never demanded any explanation. He was just there, right where Bruce needed him to be.

**Author's Note:**

> I miss EMH, and I wish Bruce got to be in more episodes. If this fic seems familiar, that's because I originally posted it on Tumblr under my better-known screenname, Threshie. Thanks for reading!


End file.
